


Bar the Door

by ibohemianam



Series: Chaconne [9]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Grief/Mourning, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-17 07:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10589379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibohemianam/pseuds/ibohemianam
Summary: It is 10 ABY, and Jyn navigates him through the aftermath.





	1. Family

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _All my nightmares escaped my head,_  
>  _Bar the door, please don't let them in._  
>  _You were never supposed to leave,_  
>  _Now my head's splitting at the seams,_  
>  _And I don't know if I can_  
>  _(breathe)_
> 
> \- Radical Face, "Welcome Home"

They sat out on the porch, just the two of them, in the quiet of dawn.

Somewhere behind them, the Force-sensitive tree glowed softly.

Cassian was asleep on her shoulder. Had been, since before the sky had begun to brighten, legs sprawled out on the bench, arms folded loosely across his chest, head pressed to her arm. Jyn reached around carefully and drew the blanket back up to his chin, rough stubble prickling the back of her hand. She remained there a moment, twisted around him, hand resting in the hollow of his throat, drinking him in.

It had been a long night.

She sat back again and looked up at the murky purple sky. A troop of woolamanders swung through the looming Massassi trees on the far side of the clearing, eerily silent.

Beside her, Cassian stirred, brow furrowed even in sleep, curling in on himself. She wriggled her arm free and lowered him into her lap, placing a hand in his hair, stroking gently. Cassian made a small, quiet sound of pain and turned towards her, instinctively seeking warmth, familiarity.

Jyn looked down at him, ignoring the live canvas above as golden light glowed on the horizon. She pressed a hand to his rough cheek, hoping to ground, to soothe.

Cassian twitched awake, the ghost of a name on his lips. Blearily, he looked up at her, squinting in the light that cast her in sharp relief.

“Hey,” she said gently.

He blinked, dark eyes large and unguarded.

“I--” he croaked, lifting his head and looking at the bench, at the sky, at her face, “I fell asleep?”

“Yeah,” Jyn replied, hand still carding through his hair, “You were dreaming.”

A shadow crossed his face, and he pulled himself upright, away from her, rubbing at it with both hands. He bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, chin in his linked hands. The blanket pooled in his lap, tangled about his feet.

Jyn watched him carefully, quietly.

Cassian turned towards her slowly, looking over her shoulder at the Force-sensitive tree, at the simple marker beside it. In these moments, he was transparent.

Jyn reached out and took his hand.

“I’m glad we didn’t bury her here,” he said, “She would have hated it.”

“Yeah,” Jyn replied, looking up at him, “She would have.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath and mustered up a smile.

“It also would’ve been a little weird,” he said, gathering up the blanket--an old gift from Shara--and tucking it around Jyn’s shoulders, “For Poe, especially.”

“Kes would never’ve let it happen,” Jyn agreed.

She held out one end of the blanket, arm outstretched, inviting him closer. He looked at her heavily, weighed down by emptiness. Jyn beckoned.

“It’s still cold out, come on,” she said.

Slowly, he settled beside her again, taking the end of the blanket from her and wrapping them up together. He stared out across the clearing.

“She was the last family I had, Jyn,” he said quietly.

Jyn pressed herself into his side.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, staring down at her boots.

“I know,” Cassian said, jaw clenching, “It’s just--”

He looked away from her, from the house next door, from the Force-sensitive tree with its simple, empty marker. Under the blanket, their hands touched again. His was freezing, and she seized it in both of hers, chafing him back to warmth.

“Not the same,” Jyn said after a long while. Cassian looked down at her, jarred out of his brooding. His brow furrowed for just a moment.

“Yeah,” he said, choked.

He turned away again, watching the sky brighten. Jyn wrapped her hand around his, leaning against his shoulder. He squeezed her hand gently.

Behind them, the back door creaked open. They turned.

“Poe,” Jyn said, “You’re up early.”

Poe Dameron, eight years old and vaguely tearful, said, “I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

Cassian scooted away from Jyn, lifting the blanket with their entwined hands.

“Come here,” he said gently.

Poe closed the door behind him and shuffled over, gazing at the worn floorboards and dashing an angry hand across his eyes. He sat between them, staring miserably at his swinging feet.

Cassian lowered their joined hands across his back, draping their blanket over the boy.

No one spoke.

Warm and safe, Poe bit his lip hard, sitting rigidly still, breathing shallowly through his mouth. Tenderly, Cassian pressed a kiss to his dark curls, resting his chin on Poe’s head.

A small sob broke free, choked off defiantly.

“It’s okay,” Cassian said, voice strangled, bright eyes fixed on Jyn, “It’s okay.”

“I miss her,” Poe hiccuped, “I miss her a lot.”

“We do too,” Jyn said.

Sobbing, Poe drew his knees to his chest, small and forlorn. Cassian turned to him, wrapping his arms around Poe, pulling him tight. He closed his eyes and clung to this little one, the one Shara had so unwillingly left behind. He felt Jyn do the same.

Something in him splintered, some hard resistance fell away.

He watched Jyn give her heart to this boy, and something else in him began to mend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's RebelCaptain Appreciation Week over on tumblr, so of course I did this.  
> Day One Prompt: Family
> 
> This chapter's notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/159432089916/bar-the-door-chapter-1-family).


	2. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how it happens.

He is drunk, cresting the ridge between pleasant warmth and nausea, hovering, again, just for a moment, uncertain of the crash.

Jyn stands in the doorway and watches him.

He knows she is there, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t know if he can without interrupting their charade.

He tips his head back, takes another drink.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jyn says.

He chokes, swallows. He is numb.

He says nothing.

“You’re going to regret this,” she continues.

 _Everything,_ he thinks.

“ _Cassian_.”

He sets his glass sloppily down. It catches the edge of the table and slips from his fingers, shattering on the floor. He stares at the glittering shards, the echoes of dead stars.

“She,” he enunciates clearly, “Doesn’t need to see me like this.”

She crosses the room in four angry strides when he stands. Glass crunches. He isn’t wearing shoes. She is.

“You need to see her,” she says, gripping his wrist fiercely.

He looks at her, swaying.

“No,” he says.

Her face tightens.

“She’s dying, Cassian.”

“No,” he says.

Something hurts. Something drones, high and low in his ears.

“I know you’re scared,” Jyn says, “I’m scared too.”

“No,” he says.

“Why not?”

The room pitches and rolls like the sea.

The sea.

Home.

A wave crashes.

Breaks.

“I can’t.”

He breaks.

“I can’t watch her die. Not her. Not her too.”

He wants to cry but he cannot.

“Cassian.”

Her voice is so gentle. Both her hands are on his face, cupping his cheeks.

“I can’t,” he says.

“I’ll be with you,” she says, “All the way.”

Hysteria rises. He needs another drink.

He turns for the bottle, but she lunges forward and snatches it away, hurling it into the sink, where it, too, shatters.

Her eyes, when they turn to meet his again, are hard.

But her voice is still gentle.

“Let’s go,” she says.

He looks down at himself.

Her hands take his. He hears her kick scuff the floor with her boots, clearing away the glass.

She steps backwards. He steps towards her.

Backwards. Forwards.

Backwards. Forwards.

She leads him, and he follows, as if to his grave.

Outside, the glow from the Force-sensitive tree is fierce.

It knows. It beckons, welcomes.

He stops at the bottom of the steps to vomit in the grass.

She says nothing, only takes his hands when he struggles to rise again.

The house is dark when they enter. Cold, even.

It, too, knows.

Why does everyone know?

She knocks quietly at the bedroom door and pushes it open.

He blinks in the light.

Everyone is there.

Everyone. All his ghosts, living and dead, turn to face him. He wavers. Jyn’s grip is tight around his waist.

No one speaks.

In the ragged silence, Poe Dameron stands and offers his chair.

Cassian cannot breathe.

He swims slowly through frigid waters, which part around him. Jyn is a burning presence at his side.

He crumples into the chair.

He puts his face in his hands.

Jyn puts her hand on his shoulder.

“Hey babe,” Kes says softly, tenderly, “Guess who showed up late to the party?”

The sheets rustle.

He cannot move.

“Cassian,” Shara breathes.

He grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Jyn pulls them away.

He stares at his feet, bare and pale.

He feels the weight of a hundred eyes on him, piercing, accusing.

Jyn grips his shoulder tightly.

He looks up.

Shara smiles weakly at him.

She’s always tried so hard.

For him.

Kes sits back sharply, running a hand down his face.

Poe breathes quietly through his mouth.

Cassian reaches out and takes her hand as he had eight years ago in the medbay on Hoth the day Poe had been born.

Her hand is warm.

Just as it always had been.

He has too many words, so he says nothing.

He sits. And slowly unravels.

They wait.

Luke stands and goes to the kitchen for caff, taking Han and Ben with him. Chewie follows, snuffling softly.

Kes sits, silent and still, face slack.

Poe sits on the bed, smoothing back his mother’s hair.

Cassian drowns.

He drowns and drowns and drowns, screaming endlessly, silently.

He has been here before. Many times.

Each time, the pain is that much greater for the expectation.

Time passes. The night deepens.

They all, somehow, know when. Leia straightens in her seat, eyes filling as she leans forward. Luke returns, face blank, and stands just inside the door, leaning back against the wall.

Han stands behind Leia, hands on her shoulders. From beyond the closed door, Ben’s sleepy child-voice murmurs over Chewie’s gentle rumbles.

Shara opens her eyes.

Jyn bites her lip.

Cassian’s breath hitches, and his hand tightens.

_Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go._

Poe sobs silently. Kes grabs him and sinks to his knees, taking Shara’s other hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

“Shara,” he whispers.

His voice breaks, and he says no more.

Shara smiles, faint and crooked. She turns to Cassian, dark eyes bright, shining.

 _Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go_.

She can hear him, he knows, because her smile turns sad

She’d always tried so hard.

For him.

 _Please_.

He swallows.

Her hand tightens around his, briefly.

She closes her eyes.

An awful sound tears itself from Kes’s chest, and he bows his head, her hand pressed to his lips, as Poe cries into her shoulder.

Cassian stands, the imprint of her warmth still in his hand.

The chair crashes to the ground behind him.

He can’t.

He can’t.

The thrumming in his chest builds, and he turns blindly, striking out for the surface.

He’s outside before he can remember where he is, the night thick and stifling.

Before him, the Force-sensitive tree burns, bright and welcoming, fierce and young and strong.

He sinks slowly into a crouch, reaching out--for what?

He snatches his hand back, links both of them together, palm to palm, and presses them to his forehead, seeking balance, yet release.

He does not find it and so remains there, crouched in despair, in unending tension, hands clutched, head bowed as if in prayer.

A hand on his shoulder.

Jyn sits next to him.

She says nothing.

He knows there are tears on her face. He knows without looking.

Why does he know?

They say nothing.

His feet are numb in the cold grass, and he wishes that numbness would spread to the rest of him, would drown him, consume him, finally, so he could go and be at peace.

It does not.

The indignity of it is what breaks him--that he, a murderer, a thief, a cheat, should live while she, a mother, should not.

It is a familiar indignity, but time has sharpened its edge.

The first sob takes him by surprise.

He sits heavily, knees drawn to his chest, curled into himself. Another ragged breath hitches, and he is gone.

Jyn pushes his hands away, slamming aside his resistance, pulling him close, folding him into her.

He clings to her.

He cries.

They say nothing.


	3. Undercover

Jyn vowed that the next time she saw General Cracken, she’d punch him in the face.

It was one thing to send the commander-in-chief of Base One out on an undercover operation. It was another thing entirely to do so scant weeks after the death of one of his closest friends.

Cassian, for his part, had taken the request as an order and accepted immediately, on the spot, before the old general’s shimmering holo. Across the room, Jyn had seethed until she could have seethed no longer, then stepped up and announced she would be accompanying General Andor in Kaytoo’s place, unapologetically shoving the droid out of the frame when he tried to object.

Cassian was unamused when he heard the news, which was right after the transport had taken off and he’d turned and found Jyn in the seat behind him.

“The _fark!?_ ” he snapped, whipping off his headset, “Where’s Kay?”

“I scheduled him for some diagnostics,” Jyn replied.

“He can run his own diagnostics,” Cassian snarled, unbuckling his crash harness and standing, grabbing the webbing overhead to steady himself as they broke atmo. The men and women around them watched with wary amusement.

“He can do a lot of things by himself,” Jyn said, “But that doesn’t mean he should.”

Cassian glared at her, visibly struggling to rein in his temper.

“Sit,” she said, “There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

He clenched his jaw.

And sat.

* * *

A few parsecs from Ord Mantell, they climbed into the tiny RX87-95 cruiser docked to the underbelly of the transport and disengaged the locking mechanism, dropping out into realspace. At the controls, Cassian keyed in coordinates for Ord Mantell and stood, pulling an Imperial officer’s uniform from his bag.

Jyn watched him fumble the clasps with trembling hands numbed for want of drink. He swore under his breath, pulling himself together, leaving the collar undone so he could shave. With a hydroblade, that was the work of seconds, and clean shaven, he dropped back into the pilot’s seat, running a hand through his hair in absent concentration.

They did not speak when Ord Mantell loomed into view, a blue-brown jewel suspended in a sea of pinprick stars.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said quietly as they landed. She was dressed as a pilot, goggles pulled up onto her forehead, hair tightly secured just above the collar of her rumpled grey flight suit.

Cassian looked at her, and she saw the doubt and fear in his eyes.

“I promise,” Jyn said.

He bowed his head for a moment, eyes closed over the controls. Impulsively, she reached out to him, gripping his shoulder with a ferocity that surprised even herself.

“When we get back,” he said thickly, looking up at her from under thick lashes, “We’re going to talk.”

“Yes, sir,” Jyn said, smiling faintly.

He huffed in resignation, hesitating briefly before punching the button that would lower the access ramp for inspection.

“I’m glad I have something to look forward to,” he said.

“That’s not the only thing,” she replied quietly.

His hand twitched to his blaster as boots sounded on the ramp. Their eyes met and lingered.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

He stood before she could reply, tugging his tunic straight. A quiet squeak of boots, and Cassian was gone. Captain Willix took his place, face flat and emotionless. Captain Willix’s hands still shook, but he clasped them tightly behind his back and lifted his chin, coolly inviting challenge.

She turned back to the center console and mechanically completed the power-down sequence, shrugging off Jyn Erso and donning Lieutenant Tharen instead, melting into quiet subservience. She would wait. She would always wait for him, and he would always return.

* * *

He was swaying on his feet when she dragged him back aboard three weeks later and two weeks late. Alcohol weighed heavily on his breath, but the blood matting the hair on the back of his head and the burning scent of blaster discharge clinging to his coat spoke of something else. She dropped him into the copilot’s seat, and he pressed himself into it, gripping the arms, breathing deeply through his nose.

Under the cover of night, they pulled away without incident.

It was only when they were in hyperspace that she allowed herself to look over at him.

“Fark,” she muttered, reaching over and shaking his shoulder, “Hey. Open your eyes.”

He blinked unevenly at her, face pale and ghostly in the streaming vortex of hyperspace.

“Jyn?” he slurred thickly.

“What’d you get hit with?” she demanded, crawling over the center console to crouch at his side.

“Don’t know,” he mumbled, wrenching his eyes open.

“How much did you drink?”

He squinted down at her.

“I can _smell_ it,” Jyn snapped, “I’m not a farking idiot.”

Cassian sank back into his chair and closed his eyes again.

“A couple. Whiskeys.”

Which meant nothing, really, for him. Jyn reached up and probed the back of his skull, which had left a dark red smear behind on the seat.

Cassian winced, flinching away.

“Fark,” Jyn repeated, “I need to get the medkit for this. You’re still bleeding a lot.”

“‘M fine,” he protested as she reached past him to the medkit under the copilot controls.

“Leia’s birthday,” Jyn snapped, popping the box open, “Quickly.”

Cassian blinked at her in confusion.

“What?”

Jyn pressed her lips together and dug out a bottle of anticeptin-D and some antishock ampules.

“ _My_ birthday,” she demanded.

Cassian’s eyes had drifted shut again, so she shook him roughly, bending him forward at the waist and liberally spraying the antiseptic over the wound. He sucked in a strangled breath at the pain, reaching up reflexively to grab her arm.

“Let me go,” Jyn snapped.

“Two days before Founding Day,” Cassian choked out, eyes gritted shut, “Your birthday.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got that straight,” Jyn muttered, prepping an antishock ampule with deft fingers. Without warning, she jabbed the hypo straight into his arm and depressed the plunger.

Cassian yelped, jerking away.

“Hold _still_ ,” Jyn hissed, capping the hypo and sticking it into its plastene sharps bin.

“What…?” he rasped, squinting at her.

Jyn bent him forward again and grimaced at the the jagged wound at the back of his head.

“Think it was a hydrospanner,” Cassian slurred, “Got me… as I was leaving.”

“Leaving what?” Jyn demanded, more to keep him talking then out of any curiosity.

To be honest, she’d rather not know.

“You don’t want to know,” he mumbled, echoing her thoughts.

Jyn narrowed her eyes, pressing a bandage to the mass of blood and securing it around his forehead.

“Anywhere else?” she said.

Cassian blinked.

Jyn snapped her fingers sharply in front of his face.

“...What?” he asked, after a pause.

Jyn debated injecting him with another ampule of antishock.

“Does anything else hurt?” she asked slowly.

He looked up at her.

“I don’t think so,” he enunciated carefully.

Jyn glanced at the navicomp. They still had about an hour to Yavin 4. She leaned back against the center console.

“What happened?” she asked.

He closed his eyes--intentionally this time, she knew. The silence stretched, strained.

“I was in a cantina,” he admitted, “For a drink.”

Jyn crossed her arms. She said nothing, but he felt her displeasure.

“I ran into someone,” he said, “Someone I used to know.”

“From where?” she said.

Casual acquaintances were not commonly found on Ord Mantell.

“The Rebellion,” he replied, emotionless, “A pilot. He fought over Endor. And Yavin 4. Probably saved our lives.”

With sudden, startled clarity, Jyn understood.

“We both knew him,” Cassian continued, and Jyn knew he wasn’t talking about her, “He was her friend.”

His eyes opened.

“He recognized me,” he said bitterly, “Of course.” He shifted forward sharply, Captain Willix again for just a breath of memory. After a moment, Cassian looked back up at her, self-loathing in his eyes. “Ord Mantell is not a friendly place for New Republic defectors,” he said. “Captain Willix agreed.”

Jyn said nothing.

“Before--” Cassian cut himself off, “I told him she was dead.” His hand strayed to the blaster at his side. “They’d been friends,” he continued, the words spilling out of him, “He deserved to know.”

 _He hadn’t deserved to die_.

Cassian’s hands are still, she realized.

He caught her looking, watched the resignation fly across her face, and turned away.


	4. Nerve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General TW. It’s that sort of chapter.

She never threatened to leave him.

Not when he shouted, when he threatened, when he sobbed, sometimes all at once. Not when he withdrew for days, weeks, months, silent and distant, drowned in vacancy.

They both knew it would be a lie.

She woke in the night sometimes and heard him crying, heard him pacing restlessly, feet wearing thin the floorboards outside her window, starlight dull in his eyes. She would lie awake, listening, breath catching when silence loomed for too long.

Everyone noticed. It was hard not to.

Hollow and gaunt, Cassian haunted the halls of Base One, mechanically maintaining peak efficiency, directing operations, issuing commands.

Nobody said anything. What was there to say?

He drank himself into a stupor most nights, glass after glass. Bottle after bottle.

“Why are you doing this?” she’d asked him once.

He’d said nothing.

He tried. He did, she knew.

He was always sober around Poe, always careful with the boy, with Kes, loving them like frightened, wounded animals, infinitely gentle.

And then he would come home and drink, and drink, and drink.

Everyone noticed. It was hard not to.

“Jyn,” Han said one day, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside after a lengthy debriefing, “Is everything okay?”

She stared up at him, twisting out of his grip.

“Yeah,” she replied shortly.

“Where’s Cassian?” he asked, glaring over her shoulder at a junior comms officer, who quickly turned and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

“Probably in a meeting,” Jyn said. _Sleeping it off_ , she thought. Never mind that he’d always made it a point in the past to be the Command member in charge of her debriefings. She crossed her arms. “Why?”

Han looked at her piercingly.

“He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?” he growled.

Jyn blinked.

“What?” she said.

“Has he hurt you?” Han asked bluntly.

“ _What?_ ” Jyn snapped, “ _No_.”

 _Not in the way anyone can see_.

Han furrowed his brow.

“Look,” he said, “I’ve seen it before. Guys like him, when they get like this, it can be pretty nasty.”

Jyn lifted her chin.

“I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself,” Han said, uncharacteristically serious, “But you have to--”

“ _\--Fark off,_ ” Jyn snarled, shoving him aside.

She fled into the hall.

* * *

She shouted at him.

It was better when he’d shouted back, when he hadn’t looked right through her, silently enduring the onslaught. It was better when he’d tipped his glass back out of spite, burning eyes meeting hers over gleaming glass. Anything was better than this.

 _Hate me_ , his eyes said now, dull and tired, _Hate me. I deserve it_.

She was in the deserted armory stripping her blaster rifle late one night when she suddenly realized she was crying, hands numb, vision blurred. She angrily swiped an arm across her eyes, smacking the ejected magazine down and roughly pressing a damper to the contacts, dissipating any remaining charge. Her hands trembled, and she fumbled with the locking mechanism, catching her finger with the bolt.

“ _Fark,”_ she hissed, wrenching her hand back and slamming the blaster onto the counter.

After a moment, she leaned forward and braced both hands against the counter, head bowed.

Her grief was a fiercely private thing. She grieved what still was and had not yet gone.

That, she knew now, was the worst sort of grief.

She’d mourned her father in that same way for fifteen years.

Was he dead, sentenced for his beliefs?

Or was he alive, a rebel against his own traitorous heart?

She had not known, but she’d waited. She’d hoped he was dead.

But he hadn’t been, and she had to live with the truth that he’d lived for her when life itself was, for him, nothing more than death.

Cassian.

He drew breath. His blood flowed.

But did he live? Did he _want_ to live?

She brought a hand up to her face, smothering emotion, smothering grief as another chasm opened between them.

She had lost her father, eventually, finally.

His death had come too late for relief.

Cassian.

His dead eyes, his pale face, his lifeless hands.

She did not know why she was crying. There was nothing to mourn. Nothing.

A sob tore its way out of her chest, and she turned, sagging against the counter, sinking slowly, slowly to the floor, unable to bear the weight.

He had told her so much in their years together, dark eyes bright under hushed starlight, and yet she still could not understand him.

Who was this fragile, broken man?

How could she possibly help him if, every day, he mourned the deaths of his people, his family, his children? He’d given his heart to them all, and there was not much of him left.

When he loved, he loved fiercely.

As he loved her.

She didn’t doubt it. She never had, after Scarif.

She knew that he had. He did.

But how could she blame a man so frightened of himself he’d taken months to consent to sharing a bed?

She knew now that she was one of the two reasons he hadn’t taken himself off with his blaster for a walk through the forest. The other was the Dameron family--what remained of it. Poe, somber and uncertain. Kes, unmoored and shattered.

Cassian clung to the shreds of life for them. For her.

It was a terrible burden to bear.

Jyn angrily ground her fists into her eyes.

And here she was, crying.

The cycle spun ‘round again--what could she _possibly_ do--and again, and again until she thought despair would crush her.

Someone sank to the floor next to her.

Startled, embarrassed, she looked up.

Cassian held out his handkerchief, eyes fixed on his knees, drawn to his chest.

She looked at him, struggling to quiet her breathing.

Under the glaring lights of the base armory, his pallor became sickly, the hollows of his cheeks sharp, jagged. He glanced at her when she did not take the handkerchief, fear in his eyes.

“I miss you,” she said quietly.

Cassian closed his eyes.

He could be dead, she thought.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped.

“What are we doing?” she asked, dashing a hand across her eyes.

He opened his eyes, crumpled the handkerchief in a trembling fist.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t think I ever did.”

She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

She could see the tears in his eyes.

“Jyn--” he began, voice breaking, cracking, splitting in two.

Instinctively, she leaned towards him.

“Jyn,” he tried again, voice like shards of shattered glass, “Jyn, I can’t.”

She waited until he turned to look at her, fear, so much fear written in the heavy lines of his face.

“I can’t either,” she said.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, trembling with objectless grief.

“We might,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, blinking, staring at himself.

“Cassian,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, crumpling and hardening all at once. He looked at her. “You shouldn’t,” he said, “You shouldn’t have to.”

“We,” Jyn said, “Should.”

“I--” he began.

“--We,” Jyn said.

He turned away from her, hand pressed to his face.

Jyn tugged the handkerchief from his hand, tears blurring her vision.

“Cassian,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She reached out and cupped his cheek, turning him towards her.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

She took his handkerchief and gently, terribly gently, wiped his eyes.

“I love you,” she said.

He closed his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he said.


	5. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _"Kathy, I'm lost," I said,_  
>  _Though I knew she was sleeping._  
>  _"I'm empty and aching and I don't know why."_  
>  \- Simon and Garfunkel, “America”  
> 

He watched her sleep.

Standing in the doorway, he sagged against the doorframe, unwilling, unable to move.

So many things. There were so many things he needed to say.

He looked down at his bag, packed with ruthless efficiency, devoid of sentiment.

It was wrong. And yet.

If he left, he knew it would be an admission of defeat. That--no, he couldn’t love properly, couldn’t care enough. That--yes, he’d grown twisted and tired, unable to carry even himself through the day without succumbing to this furious desire to numb--to numb and forget what had been, what might have been, and what never was.

He’d been defeated before. More times than he’d care to admit. He marked his life by these defeats--the death of his family, that first escape from Scarif, Fest. Tantim. Shara.

He brought a hand up to his face, cupping his chin, raking through greying stubble.

But there was more than one sort of defeat.

He remembered Bail Organa, who’d defeated him most thoroughly, wrenching away his fear and anger, and, for however brief a time, given him a family. Kes Dameron, who’d blasted into an airlock and dragged him back to sanity.

Jyn Erso, who’d loved him so fiercely he’d run from her for four years.

He watched her sleep, watched the even, steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she curled onto her side, turning towards him and reaching out for his empty half of the bed.

He could not return her love. He could never love her enough.

Roused by the absence of his warmth, she opened her eyes. They gleamed in the half-light from the glowing tree outside their window.

She saw him standing in the doorway, weary guilt on his face.

She saw the bag at his feet.

She sat up, sweeping her hair out of her eyes.

“So,” she said hoarsely, “This is it?”

He looked down, unable to bear the hurt he saw.

“You deserve better,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said.

He swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why the _fark_ do you always have to make it about you?” she spat, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, clawing the sheets aside.

He stared at her.

“This is my fault,” he said, confused, “All of--” he gestured helplessly, encompassing drunken nights, silent arguments, unspoken grief in one hand, “-- _this.”_

Jyn shook her head.

“You think that’s all this is about?” she asked, sitting hunched forward on the bed, dark shadows under her eyes. “This,” she said heavily, “Has been a long time coming.”

“Jyn--”

“--you think I didn’t know?” she snapped, voice cracking through the night, “You think I didn’t know what I was getting into? Cassian,” she shook her head, “you’ve always blamed yourself for everything, even-- _especially_ \--the things you can’t control.” Her eyes sparked. “It’s obvious why.”

He looked away, down at his packed bag.

“Do you really need me to say it?” she continued, still sitting, hunched, on their half-empty bed.

“Jyn--” he choked.

“--Blaming yourself gives you something to hate,” Jyn said flatly, “And something is better than nothing. It’s better than finding no answer when you ask why.”

He felt her eyes burn him to the core.

“You know,” she said, “I’ve finally figured you out.” She laughed bitterly. “And it’s just in time for you to prove me right.”

His head spun. His throat was dry.

“You’re just frightened,” she said, “You’re so frightened of yourself you can’t see beyond that to all the other wonderful things around you. You just look away and _run._ And you know what?” another bitter bark of laughter, “I still love you. You’re a coward, Cassian, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about you. What do you think that says about me?”

He looked up at her, chin sunk to his chest.

“We,” he said.

She stood sharply.

In two short strides, they were face-to-face, closer than they had been in a lifetime.

“ _Exactly,_ ” she hissed.

“Jyn--” he tried again, but emotion choked his words away.

“If you want to run, _run,_ ” she spat, “That’ll give you something you can blame yourself for. But know this--” she stepped closer still, their bodies flush in the darkness, “--it’ll hurt me more than it will ever hurt you.” Her eyes shone with hard tears. “If you want to hate yourself badly enough, just _go_. Don’t expect things here to go back to the way they were.”

She was trembling against him, he realized.

Or he was trembling against her.

There were tears on his face.

“There’s so much I should have done,” he whispered.

“There’s so much we all could have done,” she said, “If you think I don’t understand, you forget who my father was.”

He was shaking now, torn in two.

She reached out and gripped his arm fiercely.

His face mirrored her surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The uncertainty in her eyes became resignation.

“You deserve better,” he said.

“I do,” she said, “But I don’t want it.”

It wasn’t possible to hurt like this, he thought. It wasn’t possible to continue existing.

“When have we ever gotten what we deserved?” she snarled harshly.

“I got you,” he said without thinking, “Which was more.”

She stepped back, face contorted.

“You can’t just say things like that, Cassian,” she said, strained.

Unbidden, he stepped after her, into the room. Their room.

The Force-sensitive tree outside their window flared brightly for just one moment.

He broke.

She watched him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She reached around him and closed the door.

“I know,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut about 70% of this chapter because it started getting a little unwieldy. [Here's](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/159581883066/embarrassedpokerface-replied-to-your-post-bar-the) an excerpt of what used to be in here.
> 
> And [this](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/159582988326/embarrassedpokerface-replied-to-your-post) too, I guess.


	6. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> \- [Chapter 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10261250/chapters/22761245) of _Shore Leave_  
>  \- The [_Implosions_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8875372/chapters/20505835) miniseries

She told Kes first, more out of desperation than anything.

“I’m sorry,” Kes said, staring at his feet, “I should have seen this coming.”

“Kes--”

“I _have_ seen it coming,” he said, grief and guilt mingled.

“I know,” she replied.

He looked at her. Swallowed.

“Of course you do,” he said.

* * *

Leia was unsurprised when she ‘called in the middle of the Chandrilan night, grim expectation on her face.

“What can I do?” she asked the moment Jyn had finished her pained, jumbled explanation.

“I don’t know,” Jyn replied.

Leia’s eyes were soft, kind.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Jyn snapped, bracing herself against Cassian’s desk.

“Because we wish things were different,” Leia replied, “Because it’s hard for both of you.”

“Well then,” Jyn said, “I’m sorry too.”

* * *

Cassian, for his part, spent his days alternately vomiting in the ‘fresher and squinting at reports on his datapad, having taken a brief personal leave to--as he’d said to Mon Mothma--”re-evaluate some important decisions.”

His hands shook. Incessantly.

He wondered if he’d ever be able to hold a blaster again.

He wondered if he'd ever wanted to.

Jyn watched him fiercely, sharp-eyed and uncompromising. When his heart grew heavy, when mere existence weighed him down, she slapped him in the face, and in the following shock, pressed her lips to his.

Their eyes would meet, then, and flare, before she’d turn and stalk away.

Each time, he’d follow.

* * *

It was on one of these days that Kes hauled him out of bed and stuffed him, along with Jyn, Poe, and Leia, into his speeder, and flew them up to Lake Vidre.

Cassian blinked in the sun, as if newly awakened.

“Pap took me flying yesterday,” Poe was saying to Leia cheerfully, “He likes to pretend he’s good at it.”

“I _am_ good at it,” Kes grumbled, glancing back at them from the pilot’s seat.

“You know who’s a surprisingly good fighter pilot?” Leia said, smiling down at him.

“You?” Poe guessed, cocking his head.

Leia snorted.

“No, not me,” she replied, laughing, “Your Uncle Cass’ll tell you I might be the worst fighter pilot around. He was the one that taught me.” She raised an eyebrow in Cassian’s direction. “Transports, cruisers, I can handle,” she said confidently, “Han even trusts me with the _Falcon_. But fighters--” she shook her head, “Completely different.”

Cassian’s lips twitched, and he looked away out the viewport.

“My father was an incredible fighter pilot,” Leia continued, “He completed his A-wing certification on Corellia when he was just sixteen.”

“He taught me,” Cassian said suddenly, voice hoarse, “Probably so he wouldn’t have to teach you.”

“He didn’t really teach you,” Leia said, “You’d flown before.”

“Yeah,” Cassian replied, “But not much.”

Leia shrugged.

“Either way,” she said to Poe, who looked curiously up at his uncle, “Your uncle’s probably one of the best fighter pilots outside of the corps.”

“Leia--” Cassian protested.

“-- _Really!?”_ Poe breathed, eyes wide, “I didn’t know that!”

“That’s because it’s not true,” Cassian muttered.

Jyn smiled.

He rested his hand over hers.

“Yeah, he’s a terrible pilot,” Jyn added mischievously, smile broadening into a grin, “He crashed a transport once.”

“You _did!?”_ Poe’s eyes, if possible, grew wider.

“That wasn’t my fault!” Cassian protested, straightening.

“Two days after I met him,” Jyn continued.

“It was love at first sight,” Leia said drily.

Cassian sighed.

Poe screwed up his face.

“Gross,” he said, dragging out the word.

Kes looked gratefully back at Cassian, who smiled faintly.

“We could go up together, if you wanted,” he said to Poe.

“Yeah,” Poe breathed eagerly. Then, his face clouded. “But only if you’re feeling okay.”

Cassian looked at him sharply.

“Pap said you’ve been sick this week, which is why I couldn’t go see you,” Poe said, oblivious, “He said I needed to be careful with you.”

“Careful, huh?” Cassian repeated, glaring at Kes’s back.

“Yeah,” Poe replied, suddenly serious, looking up into Cassian’s face. “You don’t look so good.”

Jyn snorted.

Cassian transferred his glare to her.

Poe looked between the two of them, confused.

“I’m fine, _nen_ ,” Cassian said, reaching out a thin hand and ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Really?” Poe asked earnestly, vague, nebulous fear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Cassian replied quietly, meeting Jyn’s dark eyes over his head, “I’m fine.”

* * *

At Lake Vidre, Jyn helped him down from the speeder, steadying him unobtrusively as Poe streaked away down the beach into the water, flinging his shirt aside as he went.

“ _Poe!_ ” Kes yelped, tearing off after him, “Poe, wait!”

Poe shouted with laughter, darting away.

Cassian watched them, something nearly-forgotten warming his stomach.

“Come on,” Jyn said, taking his hand, “Let’s go.”

“You’re not going to swim?” he asked, eyes crinkling of their own accord.

It was a strangely unfamiliar feeling.

Jyn rolled her eyes, shoving a large blanket into his arms and tugging him gently down the shoreline to his favorite jaffa tree, picnic basket in hand. Leia watched them for a moment, then turned away, jogging lightly down to the water.

They walked slowly, hand in hand, feet bare, trousers cuffed above the ankle.

They did not speak.

Behind them, Poe laughed again, high and clear.

Jyn set the basket down in the shade of the ancient jaffa tree, shaking out the large blanket and laying out on the sand.

Cassian sat carefully, watching her, throat dry.

“I missed you,” he croaked.

She paused, startled, hair whipping across her face.

Slowly, she turned away, picking up the picnic basket and setting it down on the far side of the blanket. He watched as she straightened, back to him.

“I know,” she said quietly, words nearly swallowed by the wind.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She dipped her head quickly, tightening her hands across her chest.

“I know,” she said.

Cassian swallowed.

“I love you,” he whispered.

He watched her bring a hand to her face, press it to her cheek.

“Don’t,” she said, almost as quietly, “ever do this again.” She turned sharply to face him, hands falling to her sides. “You _scared_ me, Cassian,” she said.

_You hurt me._

Something new, familiar, tightened in his chest.

“I know,” he said.

She stood over him, staring down.

He looked up at her, looked up to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She pressed her lips together.

“I know,” she said.

This time, it sounded like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have thoughts about this particular arc--I feel like I need to explain myself a bit--so I'm putting them up [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/159618526651/bar-the-door-chapter-6-hope).
> 
> As always, thank you all for your support and feedback--I know this hasn't been the most palatable of subjects to follow, so I really, truly appreciate everything you've said. Believe it or not, it _has_ actually made a difference in the arc of this story. 
> 
> And, again as always, there may be an epilogue. Tomorrow's prompt is "Future." 
> 
> The future I'm imagining is about ten years down the line, after a particular spectacularly crashed wedding.


	7. Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten years later, an epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins immediately after the conclusion of [Chapter 5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10539165/chapters/23340747) of _Another Look_. You'll probably be quite confused if you haven't read that yet.

He felt Jyn’s hand on his wrist.

Felt her step beside him, into him, their shoulders pressed together.

The sand was cold between his toes.

Beyond the flames, he glimpsed the looming silhouette of his favorite jaffa tree, distant, remote.

He breathed.

“Dad?” Pres said, taking another step closer, firelight chasing shadows across his face.

They were nearly eye-to-eye now. Something hysterical bubbled in Cassian’s chest.

He opened his mouth. No sound emerged.

Jyn made as if to step forward, but he reached across and gripped her arm convulsively, bracing her against his side.

“Sorry,” Pres said, cocking his head in a terribly familiar motion, “Did I interrupt something?”

“ _Prestor Organa,_ ” Jyn snarled, wrenching herself out of Cassian’s grip and hurling herself at Pres, tackling him into the sand.

Kes lowered his blaster, jerking his chin at Sinjir, who slowly backed away.

Pres laughed, holding his arms up across his face as Jyn shook him by the shoulders.

“ _Where have you been?!_ ” she shouted, cuffing him in the shoulder, “Where the _fark_ have you been, you farking--farking-- _ugh!”_ Straddling his chest, she gave him one last jaw-juddering shake, then sat back and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

“Sorry,” Pres said, wrapping his arms around her tightly, “I’m sorry.”

Jyn choked out a strangled groan.

“Shut up,” she snarled.

Pres smiled, teeth gleaming in the half-light, but that quickly fell away into a frown. He drew away and ran his hands down her arms.

“Are you wearing a _dress?”_ he asked.

“Oh, fark you,” Jyn said, looking up into his face and roughly pushing back a wild, unruly curl.

“A _dress?”_ Pres repeated incredulously, looking up over her shoulder to Cassian, “I haven’t been gone _that_ long, have I?”

“ _Fourteen years!_ ” Jyn shouted in his face, angry again. She seized his shoulders, “We’ve had no idea where you’ve been for _fourteen farking years!_ ”

“Fourteen?” Pres repeated, cocking his head again, “Really?”

“ _Really,_ ” Jyn snarled.

Then, she searched his face and realized he was making fun of her in his own gentle, quiet way. Tears welled.

“You crashed our farking wedding, Pres,” she snapped.

“Oh,” he said, and this time, he really was surprised, she could see. He brought his hands--so long and slender--up to her face and traced out, slowly, the lay of her emotion, clouded eyes distant. A soft smile curled his lips.

“I have great timing, don’t I?” he said.

“No,” Jyn replied, “You don’t.”

Cassian swallowed convulsively.

He realized he was still gripping his blaster. Stiffly, he stuffed it back into its holster.

The sound drew Pres’s eyes to him again, but he could not bear the gaze and so turned away, looking out across the endless, roaring sea.

A familiar presence prickled in the back of his mind, questioning, confused.

He stiffened, hands clenched, arms crossed, drowning.

Jyn murmured something quietly to Pres. Cassian heard them stand, heard Jyn move back and shoo everyone away, heard Pres approach, softly, quietly, like a ghost.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, stars in their eyes.

Cassian spoke first.

“We thought you were dead,” he said.

Pres dipped his chin, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He said nothing.

“But I never stopped,” Cassian continued, “I never stopped thinking about you. Wondering.”

“I know,” Pres said quietly.

Cassian turned to looked at him, pained.

“Do you really?” he asked.

Pres looked at him, through him, and Cassian found his answer.

“Pres,” he said, voice cracking, “What are you doing here?”

“I had to come back,” his son replied, young face old and tired, “I couldn’t--” he broke off, looking away. A shiver ran through him. “I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“Stand what?”

Pres did not reply, narrow shoulders weary and slumped.

Instinctively, Cassian reached and pulled him closer, protectively.

“I missed you,” Pres said, leaning his head against Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian swallowed, the sea blurring into stars before him.

“I know,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. 
> 
> As mentioned in last chapter's notes, I'll probably be taking this coming week off from posting to work on the ridiculously frenetic conclusion of _Alternatively, Together_. After that bit of madness is done, we'll be on to blissfully (blissful and) simpler times. Hopefully. You never know with these two.
> 
> Your very much unexpected support has been tremendously warming--cheers, all.


End file.
